Nothing Was Fine
by Jinny the Kisaragi
Summary: The sky was dark and starless. The moon gave off an eerie white light to everything on the land below. The clouds were few and wispy, retreating to the east as the cool winds pushed them away from the abandoned town they had recently rained on. The night was peaceful, and nothing was fine.


The sky was dark and starless. The moon gave off an eerie white light to everything on the land below. The clouds were few and wispy, retreating to the east as the cool winds pushed them away from the abandoned town they had recently rained on.

The night was peaceful, and nothing was fine.

Dean leaned against the rotting wood of an old building, checking his watch every minute or so. It was almost time. He should be here any–

"Dean?"

Insecurity and fear sounded strange in Sam's voice, and Dean was positive that he never wanted to hear anything like that come out of his little brother's mouth again. Nevertheless, he gave Sam the best smile he could muster as he turned to face him, but it wavered and wobbled as he took in the younger Winchester's state.

Sam was a muddy mess, his hair mussed and blood smudged across his forehead and cheek. He was holding his arm close to his body where it had been broken, like a wounded animal, scared and confused. But what almost broke Dean's cheerful facade was the expression on Sam's face. It was the most fearful he'd ever seen him, his eyebrows knotted with confusion and his eyes wide and searching, looking to his big brother for help. Knowing Sam better than anyone, Dean could see it all, like reading an open book.

"Where are we?" Sam asked, taking in his surroundings. The town was filled with buildings of old rotting wood much like the one they were standing by, complete with a large bell in the centre. The ground was wet and muddy and the breeze brought an unpleasant chill that made him shiver.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean reassured Sam, taking a step towards him and pulling off his own jacket to wrap around his little brother. It wouldn't really be of much help to stop his quivering, but Dean liked to think that there was still some way he could help. He rested his hands on Sam's shoulders, being careful of the shoulder of his bad arm. His hands lingered there after pulling the jacket more snugly around Sam, a gesture of affection that was so simple and yet had comforted Sam in the past, "don't worry, everything's fine."

Sam didn't seem convinced, especially with such an odd reply from his brother, and he swallowed to moisten his dry throat. "Dean," he breathed, his voice gaining a little bit of stability, "Where are we?"

A shaky breath escaped Dean, but his smile did not falter.

"A demon kidnapped you a few days ago," he explained, "I've been looking all over for you. Baby probably needs a little break. Haven't driven her that fast for that long in a while." Dean paused, swallowing the lump that threatened to form in his throat and keeping his composure. "But everything's okay now." He said with a smile, patting Sam's good shoulder twice before gathering him into a tight hug.

Dean thought he may have been hurting his brother's arm, but Sam reciprocated with his good arm and rested his chin on Dean's shoulder before giving a small chuckle.

"Okay, now I know something's wrong." The younger Winchester joked, knowing that his brother had never been one for 'chick flick moments'.

His small laugh came out more as a pained huff, and Dean was glad that Sam wasn't able to see his face at that moment. "No, I'm just really glad to see you, Sammy. I thought–" an audible swallow, damn, the lump in his throat was scratching and aching and threatening to make his voice crack and falter, "–thought I'd lost you. For good." His tone became slightly higher and quieter as he said those last two words, not wanting Sam to hear what he had hidden behind them.

Sam frowned, his eyebrows coming together in a display of confusion and concern, but he didn't pull away from Dean. He simply let his brother hold him for a while, feeling Dean's arms coil tighter around him, as if he would blow away with the wind any second. Sam let Dean see for himself that things were just fine.

But the night was peaceful, and nothing was fine.

A sudden surge of ice cold pain burst in Sam's back, making him gasp and his knees buckle. Dean was there in an instant. He took hold of Sam underneath his arms, and Sam clutched weakly onto the fabric of his brother's elbow-length sleeves as he was lowered slowly and carefully onto the muddy ground. The younger Winchester could feel surges of energy leaving him, as if whatever was causing the icy feeling in his chest was sapping his strength. Soon, his entire body was freezing, and his shivering had intensified tenfold. The only relief that was presented to him was Dean's warm hand brushing his hair away and resting on the side of his face. He could tell that Dean was crouched beside him, as his body gave off waves of heat.

"…Dean…" Sam managed. It seemed even his breath was affected by the cold, and it was painful to feel the icy air rush through his lungs and trachea. He looked up at his brother through now weary eyes, and was surprised to find that Dean wasn't phoning for help. He didn't look panicked at all, actually. Dean was… crying?

No, that wasn't like Dean at all, Sam decided. Dean would be hauling him back to the Impala and speeding to the nearest hospital. Dean would be worried. Dean would be in determined panic mode, promising Sam that everything would be fine. And he always made it fine, didn't he? If there was one person on the Earth Sam could trust to make everything better, to fix everything, to make it all _fine _again, it would be his older brother.

But the night was peaceful, and nothing was fine.

The single tear that had fallen onto Dean's cheek did not go unnoticed by Sam, he realized. He'd tried so hard this time, thinking that he could finally let little Sammy go, but every single time, he realized that he isn't strong enough, and that he may never be. Dean's face was etched with pain and sorrow, bordering between keeping his composure and letting out the sob that was threatening to spill from his mouth.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy." Dean choked out, looking away from his little brother momentarily as he blinked back tears. He stroked Sam's hair in a calming fashion, knowing full well that it wouldn't help anything. "It was my job to protect you, and I let you down. And I don't know if I can live with it much longer. I… I'm sorry I couldn't…"

Sam's vision blurred until everything became a blue and violet haze, and as the wind blew harder it felt like it whizzed right through his lungs.

"What… what are you talking about?" Sam wheezed, blinking several times to try and clear the fog. "I–I…"

The wind blew fiercely one last time, and before Dean knew it, Sam was gone again, and he was alone.

Only then did the last remaining Winchester allow himself to cry. He leaned forward on his hands, where Sam had lain moments before, and clenched mud tightly in his fists as he grit his teeth, an anguished and tormented cry finding its way through to the world. It echoed in the cool night air and reached into the sky, which was now cloudless, and the wind completely gone.

Four years, Dean thought as another sob escaped him, four years since the death of his little brother. Four years since the demon Azaezel, whom he murdered in vengeance, kidnapped Sam right before his eyes and brought him to this battleground of a town.

He could have survived, Dean could have _saved_ him, but he was just a split second too late. He was too late to save Sam from his assailant, who plunged a knife into his back and severed his spine. Dean was too late to protect him, to warn him, or, hell, even gank the bastard that dared lay a finger on him.

And Dean hated, _hated _himself for it. Sam had depended on him, his older brother, to be there for him, though he wouldn't have readily admitted it. Ever since they were kids, Sam had always wanted to convince Dean that he could look out for himself, that he could handle himself at school when kids bullied him, and that he could fend for himself against all the things they hunted. Maybe it was an attempt to be more like Dean and to show him that he could be grown up too. But Dean knew, had known all along, that his geek brother silently counted on him and sought him out when things were too much to handle.

He'd done his best, he thought bitterly as he scowled up at the sky, and when Sammy needed him most, Dean had let him down. It didn't help that the crossroads demon refused to make a deal with him, despite his efforts and bribes. His last desperate hope had been shattered after she had looked at him from top to bottom and uttered, "No deal."

Every year on the anniversary of his death, Dean came back to the spot where Sam died, just to see his face one more time. It broke his heart knowing that Sam didn't know he was dead, much like the spirit they had helped a short time before the younger Winchester was kidnapped. Every year since then, Sam would show up in the town, lost, cold, and confused, cradling the arm that had been broken just minutes before his death. The first year, Dean had come back to the town to say a silent goodbye, and was frightened and overjoyed when he saw his brother. Needless to say, it shattered Dean completely when the wind had first taken Sam away from him, and it was a whole new kind of pain. Even after the fourth year of seeing Sam be swept away, the ache never did cease.

And yet, Dean still went. He continuously told himself that he should tell Sam the truth, send his spirit to rest for good. But it was too hard. He couldn't imagine a world where he couldn't see his little brother, even if it was only for a short time once a year. Dean never did give Sam a hunter's funeral. He couldn't bear to see the person that he swore to protect burning and lifeless. Instead, Dean counted on that someday, he'd find a way to bring him back. Eventually, that hope had faded away, but keeping his spirit attached to the world allowed him those few precious moments that he sought out so desperately. He knew it was selfish. He knew that if he died before he could tell Sam that he was dead or burn his corpse, his spirit would stay there forever, coming back once a year to that horrible, dead town, with no memory of how he got there or why he was so alone and afraid. Part of Dean hated himself for tormenting Sam like that. Hell, Dean hated pretty much _all_ of himself. He hated himself for not being able to save so many lives, for letting down the one person that meant the most to him in his life, and for the fact that he didn't have the strength to let that person go in peace.

Maybe he'd be able to do it next year, he thought before another sob wracked his body and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe he'd finally be strong enough, or maybe he'd simply salt and burn Sam's corpse and proceed to put a bullet in his own head.

Dean's cries continued to stretch through the town and hang in the dead air, disturbing the silence that had settled.

Now, nothing was peaceful, and still, nothing was fine.

* * *

**A/N: First Supernatural fic I've ever written, please leave a review and tell me what you think.**

**-Jinny**


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